


some strange sad way

by yanopuedomas



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24731074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yanopuedomas/pseuds/yanopuedomas
Summary: Jake misses his mother.
Relationships: Dwight Fairfield/Jake Park
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	some strange sad way

At dusk Dwight reaches for him but tonight Jake coils back when his hand finds his shoulder and when he jerks his head the traitorous moonlight gleams in the tracks on his cheeks. He twists and bares his teeth but Dwight has seen this fit before and it’s muscle memory as he slides his hands around him and fits their legs together. He calms but only the fury is gone; Dwight can feel him trembling in the hot night and he isn’t breathing well.

He closes his eyes and in a whisper counts back from five. The sound doesn’t pierce the silence, only cautiously disperses it. He can’t remember how the ritual started, only that the soft rhythm was grounding and just enough to dissolve an attack if he was quick about it. He counts the beats of his heart beneath his lips as he slowly kisses his skin.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, “it’s okay.”

Jake drags his nails through his hair, white knuckles glaring against his skin as he twists. Dwight quickly unfastens his fingers before he can rip out more locks.

“Hey,” he breathes, “uh-uh, none of that.”

He counts again, breathing the numbers across his neck. His pulse is still too quick; he can feel it fluttering unsteadily beneath his skin like a fervent trapped butterfly. His silence is frightening. Dwight sees his blunt fingernails drag down the tender inside of his arm. Pain is what feels right, Dwight knows this, and it’s the only thing Jake can believe in when he’s like this.

But he can’t watch more blood spill today.

He twines their fingers together tightly, so hard his bones ache, and taking away what he needs sends more tears spilling down his cheeks. He exhales a breath Dwight knows he’s been holding and his shoulders slump in surrender, not relief.

“What’s happening?” Dwight asks him gently; no fear, no discouragement, no disappointment. “What’s in your head right now?”

Dwight can lose him for minutes, hours, or even days. He holds him as he loves him; fiercely, with resilience, not letting go even when his shoulders begin to quake and a sob wrenches from his chapped lips. If he can get him to speak it would be enough for him.

Sometimes Dwight wonders if one day he’ll shut down and never come back again.

Today isn’t that day. It’s a single word but Dwight’s heart soars in victory when the silence is pierced by a watery syllable: “Her.”

Dwight breathes out. Then he breathes in. Slowly, with warning, he releases a hand and places his fingers on his chest. He’s only wearing a single shirt; he feels his damp skin beneath his fingertips as he rubs the fabric. It’s coarse with time and trial and catches at his skin like sandpaper.

“What do you see?”

He tenses again but Dwight doesn’t take it back. He pushes his brow against his hairline but doesn’t close his eyes; he trusts Jake with everything but himself.

“It’s,” he whispers, “that stupid- that stupid fucking-”

Dwight doesn’t cut him off but he stops speaking to dig his face into his elbow. He doesn’t make him continue; speaking isn’t easy for him on the best days and he’s more than willing to accept what he’s been given. He can narrow it down to two things; a song from his childhood stuck in his head, one that his mother would practice endlessly on the grand piano - or something she told him long ago, something that clung to him and ate at him like a disease until there was simply nothing left to kill.She had always favored his brother. She never kept it a secret.

In some sad lonely way, this was how Jake remembered her; a platonic hand on his shoulder, a lonely melody drifting down the empty hall, a smile so fake it was practically plastic - but it was the closest thing to a mother he ever had.

And he missed it.

It made Dwight want to scream. He’d never known how fortunate he was; how many times had he ignored his mother’s calls? How often had he erased their plans to chase some meaningless high with people he barely cared for? How many times had he pretended to be busy just to dodge the revelation that he was cherished and adored?

What would Jake give for something like that right now?

Dwight misses his mother in selfish ways - he wants her praise, her soft hands caressing his cheek, her eyes gazing upon him with worth and pride. He wanted the delicious dinners she cooked and the beautiful lullabies she sang and the intricate stories she told.

All Jake wanted was everything he’d always had.

“Come here,” Dwight murmurs and pulls him closer. He’s seen Jake like this but only rarely. It’s not peace and it’s not admittance; only obedience. Once twice before has Jake shown this susceptible side of him and it isn’t a feat.

Jake is quiet as he moves lower. His body shies from the outside, every cell curling in on itself as he tries to make himself as unnoticeable as possible. With a sickened heart Dwight knows he doesn’t want to exist right now - everything he says, everything he does, will never be held against him. They’ll never speak of this again. It’s what he needs.

His cheek rests on his stomach and Dwight threads a hand through his hair. He watches as his lashes flutter closed, razors against his tender cheeks. He wants to touch them but above that he wants Jake to find the peace that won’t come until his eyes are closed. He shuts them and counts the silent seconds.

Jake has never been an easy sleeper; he wakes to every stray sound and finding any sense of calm in this backwards realm is impossible. He sinks lower and lower. Wet cheeks press into his middle and he feels new warm tears bloom across his shirt. Dwight cradles his head and moves his fingertips down his hair - it’s tangled and unruly, he hasn’t had the time to trim it, but Dwight can’t blame him when all he can focus on is the next waking moment.

Jake has been living minute by minute for a very long time.

So long, Dwight thinks, it would have destroyed anyone else.

Jake is shaking; not the childish trembling of an oncoming thunderstorm, but the gripping terror of someone who can’t find their way home afterwards. He can tell he’s begging to feel something, anything, a single shred of what he can’t reach in this abyss and it breaks Dwight’s heart that all he can do is wait it out with him. It comes like the tide; for a moment or two he’s still and silent, only for the waves to crash and desperately he claws his hands up his belly to seek anything else - it’s a dark and lonely world inside Jake’s nocturne head. The glimpses Dwight has seen has left him sick to his stomach.

Back before all this, Dwight knew his type. Jake was a rich kid, spoiled silly from his father’s influence and unassuming to the brutal unforgiving world around him. Once, a very long time ago, he’d lived a life of bliss and drugs and luxury. Now the dream had ended before he had the chance to realize what it was - bloody knuckles and throbbing sinew were hardly enough to bat an eyelash. He’d shattered more bones than he could count. He’s spilt enough blood to drown in.

For him, Dwight holds on. He tightly tangles their legs, rough denim against scratched calves. He twitches; he’s aching for a dose of something to feel alive, whole, human again. There’s only one thing Dwight can offer.

He strokes his hair tenderly; he cannot imagine the way his mother used to but he tries. Slowly, so slowly. All the time in the world is theirs. Everything they are is here and now. Everything that will ever be has already been. There are no surprises tonight.

Jake doesn’t _feel_ the same way other people do. Dwight reckons he could trace it back to an uninterrupted cycle of misunderstanding and abandonment but at this point the origins mean little; intangible concepts like love and lust and fear are skewered in the minds of those who were taught to use them like weapons. His rigid white-collar upbringing damaged him in peculiar ways that left him vulnerable in places he didn’t expect - and now that he was here, thrust into the realm of the unknown and uncertain, nothing made sense. All he had was this: the memories of what he’d lost.

Tears bleed from tired eyes as Jake tries in vain to find peace. He seeks what he can - warmth, comfort - and Dwight promises him these. For a moment, just for tonight, Jake can let go and simply be. It’s not a place Dwight can find and it’s not a place Jake can search for.

“I love you,” Dwight tells him because it’s the truest thing he can think of, “do you know that?”

His tiny nod is a victory. Dwight’s body feels weightless with relief when he takes a breath in; shallow, shaky, but he’s taking a hold of his body again. It’s another step.

He can feel the moment the resistance drains from his muscles. Jake’s legs begin to fall heavy against his, his arms unapologetically encircled around his middle as his face presses deeper against his stomach.

Dwight closes his eyes and zeroes in on his breathing pattern. He knows Jake will copy him if he can stay steady enough. He counts again but in his head this time, repeating the numbers again and again until the pace is ingrained into his skull. He draws his thumb up and down his hair, massaging his scalp. His hair is thick but soft, not frayed like wire like Dwight’s. No matter how long they’ve spent trapped in this inevitable abyss, there was a delicate but perfect smoothness to his strands, a certain softness that made Dwight’s palm ache for another stroke.

Sleep never comes easily. It’s a battle and rarely a triumph. Jake takes a breath in and Dwight puts a hand on his brow and encourages him closer; his skin is warm but without fever. His thumb traces his brow and strokes away deep furrowed lines of tension, sliding to his temples. There he slowly rubbed his fingertips in tender circles, letting the pad of his thumb delve against his skin as he ebbed away any remaining pain he may not have seen.

Gently his nails graze through his hair, combing his locks still sticky with blood and sweat. Gradually Jake’s breathing begins to steady. Dwight feels when he returns back to him - the last stiff threads melt from his shoulder blades and his head rests heavier on his middle now. Dwight closes his eyes and silently breathes _thank you_ to any and every higher power he can reach.

“I’m sorry,” Jake’s whisper is nearly drowned by the cloth of his shirt but Dwight’s heard them often enough to memorize the shape of them. They glow like stars against the void above.

“Every boy needs his mother,” he closes his burning eyes. He’d ran out of tears long ago.

Dwight can’t sleep until Jake does. It’s a curse that’s haunted him since the day he realized Jake was the only reason he was still trying to survive. It isn’t difficult to tell when he finally fades into slumber - his chest rises and falls with each steady breath, his closed eyes still. The lifeline grip he has around him has laxed, rigid muscles sore with overexertion and adrenaline finally softening under his touch. Jake knows little of peace but he scavenges what he can.

On nights like these, all Dwight can do is try to make it easier.


End file.
